Sweet Silver Lining
by kazumigirl
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have had some crazy adventures, but nothing as crazy as having a toddler delivered to their front door. Little Sophie is a mystery, especially since she only wants Holmes. Holmes/Watson. Established relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**Sweet Silver Lining**

_Dearest Sherlock, I know what you see before you does not remind you of the Irene Adler you knew, but after reading this thoroughly, you will realize that this exactly the Irene you knew. As usual, I am on the run, and a permanent home, a permanent life is impossible for me. I have been with many men, but you are the only one I trust with my precious gem, my Sophia. I will return for when a more stable time arrives, but until then, please take care of her.  
With love, Irene_

"Holmes," Watson breathed, as the two men stared at the unexpected visitor before them. "What have you done?"

They stared at her, and she stared at them. Her satchel was twice the size of her own body. Latched tightly in her arms was a worn-out rag doll. A funny odor emitted from it. She looked away and stroked the matted, chocolate-covered yarn on its head. Holmes stared at her, and Watson stared at him. The little girl continued to stare at her doll.

"Right." Holmes moved forward, past Watson and the child. He moved to his favorite chair and sat down. Watson frowned at him, but knelt down to be eye-level with the child.

"How old are you, Darling?" he asked softly.

The little girl's dark eyes widened and her bottom lip began to tremble. She buried her face in her stinky doll, beginning to cry. Her shoulders shook and her legs trembled. Squeaking gasps emitted from her as she wept. Watson moved his eyes up to look at Holmes, and the detective shrugged one shoulder. He took his violin and stared into space, beginning to play meaningless notes.

_Pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck_

The little girl slowly raised her head and followed the noise with her eyes. She was still sniffling, but no longer hysterical. Holmes continued to stroke the chords, and did not notice her make her way over to him. Even when she placed her hand on his leg, he still continued to play, absent-mindedly. It was only when she leaned over and plucked one of the strings did he finally notice her, and he jumped. The little girl giggled, smiling toothily. She did it again.

"Stop that," Holmes said. He clutched the instrumently posessively to his chest.

The little girl held up her doll, and Holmes' brows furrowed. He watched suspiciously as she placed it upon his thigh, making it sway side to side. His gaze moved over to Watson who also watched silently as the doll danced on his leg. The little girl stared up at the detective, grinning as the little doll moved back and forth. Holmes looked at Watson again. As he did so, the child reached over and plucked the violin chords again. She giggled. Holmes moved it out of her reach, carefully placing it on the opposite side of the chair. Her eyes followed his foot as he nudged it away with the toe of his shoe.  
He stood up, and she attached herself to his leg. His moved down briefly, and with difficulty, he took a few steps.

"Watson," he said quietly. "Help."

The doctor sighed through his nose and made his way over to them. The child's grip tightened on the man's legs. Watson knelt down, a good foot away, and smiled sweetly. "Sophia," he said. "That's your name?"

Sophia began to wail again, burying her face in Holme's trousers. The detective frowned again. "Do something," he said desperately, but in a hushed tone.

"She doesn't like me," the doctor said simply.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Holmes stared at him, using one hand to try and pry the child away. "You're the doctor! _Make_ her like you."

Watson only shook his head, a trace of amusement crossing his face. Holmes closed his eyes for several seconds. When he opened them, he spoke. "Sophia-"

"Sophie." She looked up at him.

"Of course," he nodded. "_Sophie_."

"Ask her how old she is," Watson commanded, sitting down in a chair across the room. Holmes looked at him like he was an idiot, but Watson shrugged one shoulder, leaning back.

"How old are you, Miss Sophie?" Holmes asked, looking at Watson.

"Six," The little girl replied.

"She's not six," Watson said.

"She just said she is," Holmes countered.

"She's too small," Watson pointed out.

"Sophie," Holmes tried again. "How old are you?"

"Ten!" She giggiled, holding up eight fingers. She released Holmes' leg and held her doll up to him. "Lucy."

The detective gingerly took it with two fingers. Sophie raised her arms up, staring at him again. He stared back at her, and then Lucy. He handed her the doll back. She gave it back to him and raised her arms again. Holmes looked at Watson who only grinned at him, giving a small nod. The detective handed her the doll once more and briskly made his way back to his chair. He picked up his violin and Sophie was right next to him once more. She leaned over him, standing on her tip-toes, reaching for the instrument.

"Watson..." Oh, good lord, was he actually..._pouting_?

_"_Sophie." The doctor stood up and walked over to her. "May I see Lucy?" He picked her up, and she began to scream bloody murder, tears springing from her eyes. She reached for Holmes, stretching to her limits and Watson gave him his classic know-it-all look.

Holmes put the violin back down and stood up, his arms at his sides. Whimpering, Sophie reached for him, struggling against the doctor, and looking away, Holmes opened his arms. She practically jumped into them and wrapped her arms around his neck. Watson walked over to the door, grabbing his coat. Panicked, Holmes set the girl down. "Where are you going?"

"Out." Watson looked around for his hat.

"Out where?" Holmes paced around, Sophie his shadow. He climbed up on the window sill and she held out her arms, standing on her toes again, whining.

"I'll be back," the doctor replied, grabbing his hat. "While I'm gone, put away anything she could harm herself with." He opened the door, and turned to his partner once more. "And don't try any experiments on her either."

Holmes fell down, and quickly stood up before Sophie could touch him. He stared at Watson, shaking his head slightly. "I was just going to set it free in the wild," he said. "The way they're meant to live...naturally...and happily..."

Watson only shook his head and walked out. Holmes stared at the closed door for several seconds, listening to Sophie tinker with things behind him. He heard the chords of his violin again, and quickly spun around to take it from her. When he did, she began to cry, loudly, stomping her feet and chucking Lucy to the floor. Holmes handed it back to her, closing his eyes and mouting a prayer.

-----------

Watson returned some time later in the afternoon, two brown paper parcels in his hand. He dropped them when he saw the room. It had obviously been turned upside down, ten times messier than usual. Holmes was snoring, leaning against the far wall, his clothes and hair more disheveled than ever. Curled up in his lap like a dog was Sophie, also snoring faintly. On the other side of her was Gladstone, snoring the loudest.  
Swiftly and quietly, the doctor went to work tidying up the room, putting away all of the hazardous items first. The noise woke Holmes and his eyes opened.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"I went to talk with Mrs Hudson," Watson replied, opening the parcels. To Holmes' horror, he began to pull out tiny articles of clothing. "She's a grandmother, and luckily had a lot of clothes we could use."

"Watson." Holmes carefully rolled Sophie off of him, sliding up the length of the wall until he was fully standing. "We aren't keeping her, are we?"

"The only other choice we have is to put her in an orphanage," the doctor replied.

"Where's the nearest orphanage?" the detective asked hopefully.

Watson stopped unfolding and stared at him. "Do you know how filthy and poorly-maintained orphan homes are?"

Holmes didn't respond, but looked as disappointed as anything. Watson leaned over and pecked him on the lips. "We'll manage."

They both turned, hearing Sophie whimper. The whimpering turned to whining, and became a full-fledged fit, complete with kicking and flailing. They watched her silently, and when she settled down, she called in a tiny voice, "Mama?" More whimpering. "Mama?"

Watson walked over to her and scooped her up in his arms. "Shh. It's alright, Love."

Sophie kicked and flailed, finding where she'd mislaid her tantrum, and reached for Holmes. He mouthed a swear word and approached them, holding out his arms. She buried her face in his shirt, making a nice wet spot.

-----------

Dinner went a little better than the rest of the day. Sophie had cried until she was sitting squarely in Holmes' lap, spilling milk on his trousers and dropping forkfuls of food on his shoes and on the floor. As they ate, Watson at a safe distance across the table, the doctor cleared his throat and spoke up.

"She's two," he said.

"Beg pardon?" Holmes raised his eyebrows.

"Two feet, twenty-five...maybe thirty pounds...baby teeth," Watson rattled off. "She has to be two, two and a half at the most."

Mrs. Hudson attempted to help prepare her for bed, but when she carried her to the washroom kicking and screaming, she gave up. Everytime she set her down on the floor, Sophie would run down the hall, up the stairs, back to Holmes. He eventually (after a long argument with Watson _and_ the nanny) had to bathe her himself, soaking wet in front of the tub, scowling. Sophie grinned and giggled, splashing and dunking herself under the water.

After she was dried and dressed, Holmes took her to Watson's old room and pointed to the bed.

"Well," he said, turning to leave. "Goodnight."

Sophie stood beside the bed, fingering the comforte with her free hand. In her other hand, she clutched Lucy tightly. Holmes smiled awkwardly and left the room. It only took him seconds to hear the sound of tiny, pattering feet behind him. He quickly grabbed her hand and led her back into the room, this time placing her on the bed and throwing the covers over her.

"Lucy." She held her doll up again, poking her head out.

"Goodnight, Lucy," the detective said, impatiently. He walked out of the room again, to his own room. After he settled down and changed into his night clothes, he climbed into bed beside Watson, who was already asleep. Lucky bastard.

It didn't take long for him to hear the mattress next door squeaking. He breathed heavily through his nose, picturing her every movement in his head. Climbing out of the bed, walking out of the room, walking to _their _room, opening the door, giving the violin a pluck, moving towards the bed, climbing onto the bed...  
She squeezed herself in between the detective and doctor, humming quietly. She then began whispering to herself, and soon Holmes could feel her playing with his hair, as if she were counting each strand.

"Mmm..." Watson woke up, dazed. "Just knock me off of the bed, why don't you?"

Sophie began screaming bloody murder, latching herself onto Holmes for the millionth time that day. He winced as her fingernails dug into his bare chest. Watson sat up, his face mixed with annoyance in confusion.

"You can't sleep in here," he said.

"I couldn't agree more," Holmes nodded.

"You have to sleep in the bed next door," Watson sighed, massaging his eyes with his fingertips.

"He's absolutely right," the detective chimed in.

"I meant _you_, Holmes."

"He meant me-" He frowned. "Come again?"

"She's not going to go to bed alone," Watson explained. "You have to stay with her until she falls asleep."

"I have a better idea," Holmes told him, rolling over. "Why don't _you_ go in the next room and _you_ stay with her until she falls asleep?"

Watson stared into space for a moment. "Alright then." He grabbed Sophie, who fought and struggled and cried, and left the room.

Holmes heard it all. The same noises as before, only ten times more frantic, and with screaming to boot. This time around, Sophie flung herself back onto the bed, getting tears and snot all over the detective's chest. Her light brown curls were matted to her face with tears and sweat. Watson sauntered back in a few moments later. He smirked at Holmes without actually smiling.

-------

"I hate my life," Holmes muttered, lying in the bed next door, Sophie spread out beside and over him like a starfish.

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Watson." _Pluck, pluck, pluck._ "What are we going to do?"

He was, of course, referring to Sophie, who busied herself on the floor sorting through various data notes she had been instructed not to touch. She had been with them for four days now, and not one thing had changed about her since day one. She still clung to her putrid rag doll like a life raft. She still insisted on touching anything and everything that caught her eye, which had led to quite a few spills and accidents. She still would not let Watson touch her, let alone go near her. And she still attached herself to Holmes, for reasons unknown.

"Lucy is sad," she announced as they watched her play on the floor.

"Why's that?" Watson asked.

The little girl's frowning silence was not unexpected, and she turned to Holmes, repeating her statement. "Lucy is sad."

"Well that makes two of us," the detective smiled briefly before scowling into space. He frowned even harder, quickly tucking his violin behinkd his chair as the toddler made her way over and placed the doll on his knees.

"Lucy needs a kiss," she said, smiling.

"Excellent." Holmes turned to Watson. "Watson _loves_ to give kisses." He smirked. "Don't you, Doctor?"

Sophie stared suspiciously at Watson and hugged her doll close to her chest. She made her way back to the center of the room, plopping herself onto the floor. Holmes cocked his head slightly, taking note of the way she fingered the doll's face-just above the poorly-stitched mouth. She shook her head, whispering to herself. Lip-reading came easily to Holmes and he realized she was whispering the word 'no' over and over again, stroking the doll's face.

He glanced at Watson, and then back to Sophie. Back at Watson, back at Sophie, back at Watson, back at Sophie, back at Watson, back at Sophie, back at Watson...and then he busted out laughing. It startled both the girl and the doctor, and they looked at him. He continued to roar, slapping his knees and wiped at his eyes. Sophie laughed too, though she had no idea what was so amusing. To a toddler, the sight in itself was a riot.

"What?" Watson finally asked, sounding mildly annoyed.

Holmes finished up and his expression became very serious. "It's your moustache."

"Excuse me?" The doctor's brows furrowed.

"The reason the child is so frightened of you," the detective explained. "It's your moustache."

"Why on earth would she be afraid of my moustache?" Watson asked like his friend was out of his mind...more than he usually was.

Holmes stood up, his thumb and forefinger to his chin. "It could be a number of things. As _adventurous_ as Irene Adler is, she's also very private, and very possessive by nature. The child just might not be used to seeing men in her life." When nothing registered to the doctor's face, he added, "Only men can grow moust-"

"I know that!" Watson barked, interupting him.

"You could remind her of someone unpleasant," Holmes continued. "Somebody who also has a moustache."

"Holmes." Watson closed his eyes. "I seriously doubt the child fears me because of my facial hair." He looked at Sophie. "She's probably just uncomfortable because..." he faltered.

"Your meatball-shaped head?" Holmes suggested with a shrug.

---------

Mrs. Hudson stood awkwardly beside the table, drumming her fingers against a serving dish. Holmes eyed the untouched food on the table longingly, and Sophie fingered a spoon, seated squarely in the detective's lap. The clock on the far wall ticked loudly, almost too loudly. Watson was late to dinner, which was odd on his account. Usually Holmes was the one late to dinner, if he remembered to eat at all. The detective had just started to steal a roll when he heard Mrs. Hudson gasp. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.

Watson entered the dining area, shifting his weight awkwardly. He cleared his throat and nodded apologetically.

"Well, go on then," Holmes gestured to Sophie with his head. "Try it."

Watson knelt down on one knee. "Sophie?"

The little girl slid off of Holmes' lap and out of the chair, placing her spoon back on the table. She slowly made her way over to the doctor, and stared at him for a moment. Her little hand touched his face, one finger at a time, tracing the area just under his nose and above his top lip. She then proceeded the same process, only this time, she used both of her hands.

"You're clean," she whispered, smiling.

Watson smiled too. "Yes, Dear," he chuckled slightly. "I'm clean."

Sophie continued to grin from ear to ear. She moved her hands from his face to his hair, and then to his ears, his neck, his shirt, his hands...smiling warmly the entire time.

Watson picked her up and carried her back to the table. She didn't cry or try and pull away from him. As they started to eat, Holmes kept shifting his gaze to the doctor.

"Feel free to gloat," Watson muttered over his glass.

"No." Holmes shook his head slightly. "Just going to miss it, that's all."

----------

That evening, Watson bathed and dressed Sophie, and he seemed to really enjoy it. He tucked her into his old bed, reading to her from an old fairytale book Mrs. Hudson had given them the day after Sophie's arrival. He read to her until she fell asleep, and when she finally did, he leaned down and kissed her softly.

Holmes watched from the open doorway, smoking his pipe. Watson looked up at him and shrugged, standing up. He followed the detective back to their own room, and as they crawled into bed, he blurted out, "It's the reason I almost married Mary, you know."

"What was that?" Holmes asked.

Watson stayed sitting up, staring dreamily into space. "It was the next step in my life. I'd had education, a career, adventure..." he layed down. "I wanted children, a _family_."

"You should have told me," Holmes said. "We could have dropped by one of those dreadful orphan homes and picked up one or two...ten..."

Watson laughed. They were silent for a moment, and then the doctor sat up again. "Is she yours?"

"Beg pardon?" Holmes turned his head, cocking a brow.

"I won't get mad," Watson said. "I just want to know."

"Unless Irene had been in one of her drug-and-violate-and-then-disappear moods, then I doubt it," the detective said.

"She's beautiful," Watson muttered, laying back down once more. "Do you think we can make this work, Holmes?"

"We made it work with the dog," Holmes shrugged. "The only difference with a child is it talks."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John."

To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Three in a bed. It's how Holmes and Watson woke up every morning now. They would put Sophie to sleep in the bed next door, but every morning, they would wake to find her squeezed between them. At first it had been awkward and unpleasant, but after several weeks, it was welcoming.

"Good morning," Sophie whispered when Watson opened his eyes. She was absent-mindedly playing with his hair.

"Good morning," the doctor whispered back, touching her nose with his fingertip.

The little girl rolled over to face the other man, but his back was turned to her. She sat up and peered over him, sticking her fingers in his open mouth. He gagged and choked, coughing himself awake. The doctor shook his head, laughing.

"Good morning," Sophie sang, staring down at the frowning detective.

"If only," he muttered, sitting up. He lowered his head to kiss her, and then leaned over to kiss Watson.

"Lucy!" Sophie dug around in the covers to retrieve her stinky old doll. The men groaned, but kissed the doll as well, holding their breaths as they did so.

They lounged in bed a few minutes longer, and finally Watson got out. "Can't waste the day," he said, stretching. "Right, Sophie?"

"Right, Watson!" The toddler grinned, showing dimples big enough to hide a peanut in.

Holmes glanced at his partner, taking note of the way he froze briefly. His smile dropped a tiny bit, but he pushed it back into place, moving across the room to prepare for the day.. The detective followe him with his eyes, but he grew wary and looked down at Sophie. He knew what Watson wanted, but he also knew he didn't how to ask for it, let alone admit that he wanted it.

"Let's get dressed then." Holmes scooped Sophie up in one arm, removing himself from the bed.

He waited unitl Watson left the room and when the doctor did so, he set the little girl down on the floor. Kneeling at her level, he placed his hands on her tiny shoulders.

"Sophie, dearest," he said. "Your mother's name is Irene, but you don't call her that, correct?"

"Mama," Sophie replied, hugging Lucy close.

"Well, Darling," the detective found it hard to explain. "There is an opposite of a, um, _Mama_. A male role model, if you will-"

"A Daddy," Sophie interupted him.

"Yes, Holmes nodded, clearing his throat. "Well, I was thinking, and Watson is an awful lot like a..._Daddy_, isn't he?"

Sophie stared down at the floor, wriggling her toes. "Mama said you're my daddy," she said.

Holmes chuckled awkwardly. "No, Dear," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not-"

"Will you be my daddy?" Sophie asked hopefully, her eyes lighting up. "You and Watson could both be my daddy."

The detective looked at the floor. "Fine," he muttered. He looked back up. "But Call Watson 'Daddy', not me."

"Can I call you Papa?" She held up her doll. "That's what Lucy calls her Daddy."

"Fine," he muttered again.

"Alright, Daddy."

"No." The detective pointed a finger at her. "No, no, no, nonononno."

Watson re-entered the room, clean and dressed. Sophie rushed over to him, raising her arms. "Papa!"

Watson picked her up, and looked questioningly at Holmes.

"We had a little chat," the detective sighed, shaking his head.

-----------

Work was not a problem for the detective and doctor. Mrs. Hudson was always glad to care for Sophie, and the little girl had finally grown accustomed to her.

"Ta-da!"

Mrs. Hudson opened the front door just as the doctor and detective made their way to the third step of the house. Sophie stood in front of them, beaming. She was dressed in an ivory-colored, front-button dress, tights, and shiny black dress shoes. Her milk chocolate curls were pulled up into a small knotted bun, curly strands escaping the up-do.

"We went shopping," the landlady explained.

Watson scooped the toddler into his arms. "You look gorgeous!" He turned to Holmes. "Doesn't she look gorgeous?"

"Beautiful," the detective agreed, reaching over to straighten her collar.

Mrs. Hudson sighed, cocking her head slightly. "It's been a good many years since I've been able to go out and buy a dress like that."

"Speaking of which-" Watson passed Sophie to Holmes and dug out his checkbook. "How much do we owe you?"

The landlady waved her hand dismissively at the thought. "It's been too long since the laughter of children filled this house," she scoffed. "I won't hear of any payment nonsense!"

"Nanny got a friend for Lucy!" Sophie squeaked. "Come and see, Daddy! Papa!"

They went into the house and Watson and Holmes winced slightly. Shopping parcels littered the living room, toys and clothes strewn all over the floor. Sophie wriggled out of Holmes' arms and raced over to an elegant porcelain-head doll.

"This is Lisa," she said. "She's Lucy's sister!"

"Mrs. Hudson," Watson said in a hushed tone. "I insist, let us pay you for the trouble."

"If you really want to pay me," the landlady replied. "Then stay out of the house tomorrow because Sophie, Lisa, Lucy and I are going to have a fabulous tea party."

"And Gladstone," Sophie said, looking around for the lazy mutt. "He's invited too."

Holmes picked up a random box and plucked an elaborate lady's hat from it. Sophie looked up at him and smiled. "My lady hat," she said, scurrying over and reaching for it. Holmes gave it to her wordlessly and she placed it on her head.

"I look like Mama," she said, raising the hat that fell just below her vision level.

"Just like her," Holmes agreed, smiling at Watson.

"Oh." Mrs. Hudson disappeared briefly and returned with an envelope. "A Mr. Botts came by while you were out," She said, handing it to Holmes. "He seemed urgent, but would not tell me what he needed."

Holmes tore open the letter and began to scan its contents, Watson reading over his shoulder.

_Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,_

_I apologize for contacting you on such short notice, but unfortunately, I'm on short-notice as well. An old flame, Miss Irene Adler, contacted me some days ago to inform me that I have a daughter. I don't know why it's taken so long for this news to reach me, but it fills my heart. I am a wealthy businessman, but have no family I can truly relate to. _

_I was told I could find my daughter, Sophia, residing with you. I cannot thank you enough for keeping her for some time. I know raising a child is not cheap, and I intend to pay you for your trouble. _

_I wrote this letter in a hurry, but have left it with your landlady. I had to attend some business in the city, but will return tomorrow before noon for Sophia. Please have her packed and ready to go._

_ Thomas Botts_

"What does it say?" Mrs. Hudson asked anxiously.

"Thomas Botts?" Watson's brows furrowed. "Who the hell is he?"

Holmes looked at Sophie, who was strutting around in her lady hat, humming quietly. When she caught the detective looking at her, she grinned and threw the hat off of her head. She raced towards the detective and doctor, raising her arms. Surprisingly, they both started to pick her up. Holmes lowered his arms and nodded at Watson, who took her.

"Papa," she said, tracing his cheek with her fingers. "May I have some tea?"

"Of course, Love." He kissed her, carrying her away.

Holmes watched them go, and then turned to Mrs. Hudson. "It's nothing," he said, smiling.

_  
_To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After the letter arrived, time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time. Holmes and Watson kept finding themselves staring at a clock.

----------

"Did you piss her off?" Watson asked that night, standing before the bed.

Holmes stopped undressing. He didn't have to ask who Watson was talking about. He stared into space for a bit and then turned to the doctor. "No."

"What are we going to do?" Watson asked, climbing into bed. He remained sitting up, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I guess he can't _prove_ that he's the father."

"Sure he can," Holmes said. When Watson only glared at him, he cleared his throat. "But it would be very, very difficult, of course."

"We can't go to the law," Watson scoffed, shaking his head. "No judge would sit there, debating a child's best interest between a wealthy, stable businessman and two bachelor loons renting a boardhouse."

" 'Bachelors'?" Holmes raised his eyebrows.

"You know what I mean," Watson groaned, closing his eyes and massaging his forehead.

A tap at the door startled them, and Holmes rolled out of bed. He opened the door just a crack, and Sophie squeezed her way in. She had Lucy in one arm, and Lisa in the other. She smiled up at the detective. "Hello."

"Hello, Hello." Holmes smiled back, gesturing towards the bed.

Sophie scurried onto the bed, clumsily pulling the covers around herself. She smiled at Watson. He smiled back.

"Are you coming to our tea party tomorrow?" She asked, brushing her fingers over his lips.

"Absolutely," Holmes chimed, climbing back into bed. "Do tell me we'll have cake."

"Oh, yes," Watson nodded at her. "We'll definitely need cake."

Sophie rolled over to face Holmes. "Wear a jacket," she ordered, pointing a finger at him.

"You wear a jacket," Holmes retorted, kissing the finger. Sophie giggled and the detective pretended to eat her fingers, biting at them playfully.

-------

"Mr. Holmes?" A knock sounded at the door. "Doctor Watson?"

It was Mrs. Hudson, and she sounded frantic. The two men sat up groggily, and Holmes rolled the sleeping toddler off of him. Without waiting for a response, the landlady opened the door a crack and quickly peeked around before opening it all the way.

"He's back," she breathed. "He said he's here for Sophie."

The two men quickly dressed and hurried down the stairs. Thomas Botts stopped them at the bottom. He was a solid man, strong eyes, broad shoulders, and a thick, bushy nest of hair around his lips and draped over his chin.

"Beard," Holmes said quietly, darkly.

"Detective Holmes." Mr. Botts smiled warmly, shaking their hands. "Dr. Watson."

Holmes studied his physical features intently, carefully checking for resemblances. He had olive-colored eyes, tanned skin, and a wide smile. Sophie had dark brown eyes, milky skin, and a small mouth. On the other hand-the negative one, Irene had milky skin and dark eyes as well.

"Where is she?" Mr. Botts looked around, clapping his hands together, smiling like a clown.

"Sleeping," Watson muttered, his eyes raising towards the stairs.

Holmes could see her, still asleep, her limbs flung out in every which direction. She would be snoring faintly, drool on the side of her mouth, her curls crazy and tangled. She would soon wake up, the sun creeping through the heavy drapes. Noticing her _Daddy_ and _Papa_ absent, she would look under the covers, under the bed, climb out of bed, get distracted by the violin, go back to bed to grab her dolls, get distracted by the violin again, walk out of the room, hear voices, pad down the stairs, stop...

"Sophie." Watson noticed her first.

Holmes turned around. To his satisfaction, she was staring intently at Botts, her dolls clutched to her body like treasure. She took the last few steps and moved towards the detective, standing a few feet behind him. Mrs. Hudson made her way over and smoothed out her wild morning hair.

"You must be Sophia," Botts said, smiling down at her.

"Sophie," the little girl whispered, holding onto Holmes' leg.

"Well, Sophie," he knelt down. "I'm your father." He opened his arms, but she did not go to him. She stared at him cooly, her fingers tracing patterns in the detective's trousers.

"It's your beard," Mrs. Hudson informed him.

"Huh?" The visitor raised his eyebrows.

"She's afraid of facial hair, Sir," the landlady explained curtly. "She won't go to you unless it's gone."

"That's ridiculous!" Botts laughed, standing back up. "How old is she? Little thing, isn't she?"

"Well," Holmes smiled sweetly. "If you calculate correctly-since you've been with Miss Adler, you'll figure it out."

"Tell me, Sophie," Botts ignored Holmes, or just didn't catch the malice to his words, and tried again. "Do you like chocolate?"

Sophie looked at Watson. "Papa, do I like chocolate?"

"Yes, Darling," Watson nodded, feeling red creep onto his face. "The candies Mrs. Hudson keeps in the cupboard."

Sophie graced the explanation with her dazzling dimple smile. "The shiny ones," she whispered, making tiny shapes with her fingers. "The ones we eat after dinner and before story time."

"Why does she call you 'Papa'?" Mr. Botts tried to laugh it off, making it seem unimportant.

"Well," Watson cleared his throat. "She has been one with us for over a month now."

"I have some chocolate!" Botts dug around in his coat and retrieved a rectangle wrapped in gold and red foil. "I just bought it this morning." He smiled at Sophie. "Would you like some, Dearie?"

Sophie shook her head.

Mr. Botts fingered the candy. "Don't you like it?"

"I haven't eaten breakfast," Sophie explained. "Or lunch, or dinner."

Watson and Holmes smiled. Despite their own bad habits, they were very strict on Sophie keeping good ones. Watson, anyway. Holmes was just accustomed to doing everything Watson said.

"I have a wonderful housekeeper," Botts said to the men. "She practically takes care of me. I'm sure Sophie will love her." He walked over to Holmes, and the detective tensed, almost swinging his fist, but stopping himself just in the knick of time.

"Sophie," Botts said softly, but sternly. "You're coming home with me. Your daddy."

The detective's body hair prickled at the name, and he reached down to pick the toddler up. He stared at Botts, and it finally seemed to dawn on the man what was going on. He looked between the detective and the doctor. "You are going to give her to me, aren't you?"

"What proof do _we_ have that you're her father?" Watson quizzed, finding where he'd mislaid his retired soldier.

Botts scoffed. "Why would I show up out of the blue to pick up a child that's not mine?" He reached out to touch Sophie and she whined, buring her face in Holmes' shirt.

"Perhaps we should wait until we can get Irene's word on this," Holmes told him, firmly.

"I can't believe this!" Botts frowned. "This is _my _child! Irene informed me to come and get her!"

"Don't _yell_ in front of her," Watson ordered, closing his eyes and speaking slowly, as if to control his own temper.

"DO I HAVE TO COME BACK WITH A COURT ORDER?!" Botts disregarded the doctor in every way, punching the closest wall. It cracked slightly.

Sophie began to whimper, and then cry, her whole body shaking. Holmes let his head roll back, feeling wetness start to stain his clothes. Watson quickly moved forward and punched the other man in the face, sending him stumbling a good three feet.

"Leave our house at once," he ordered darkly. "NOW!"

Botts glared at them, holding his bleeding nose, and stormed over to the door. "This isn't over!" He growled. "I'll come back with a court order, and you'll give me my daughter!"

Watson marched over and shoved him out the door, slamming it in his face. Sophie wailed, and refused to release Holmes as he tried to set her on the floor.

"He scared her so bad she pissed herself," he muttered, trying to remove her.

"Come here, Love." Watson took her, and held her close as she sobbed into his shirt. He ran his hand through her hair and kissed her repeatedly. "It's alright."

"The nerve of him!" Mrs. Hudson huffed. "Cracking a hole in _my_ wall!"

Holmes excused himself to go change, and Watson followed him shortly with Sophie to change her as well. After it was all said and done, they sat on the bed upstairs, Sophie still weeping and clinging.

"I do hate to interupt your tears, Sophie," Holmes said, rubbing her back. "but I believe we're running late."

The toddler sniffled, but did not raise her head from Watson's shirt. "For what?"

"Our tea party."

To Be Continued...


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Things smoothed out over the day, and Sophie fell asleep during dinner. Mrs. Hudson placed a hand to her heart, cooing about how _stressed_ and _exhausted_ she was after her frightning ordeal, but Watson knew better. As they moved the child upstairs to her bed, he moved in front of Holmes at the top of the stairs.

"What did you give her?" He asked in a flat, but demanding tone.

Holmes shrugged, the best he could holding the limp toddler in his arms. "Just a mild antihistamine-doxylamine, to be precise."

They placed Sophie in her bed, smoothing the covers around her. Holmes placed Lucy and Lisa on either side of her, like guardians. They stared at her for a moment, and then exited the room. When they reached the other room, Holmes ripped his violin from beside the bed and collapsed in his chair, plucking away. His eyes glazed over, and he stared into space, the same way he did when he'd suddenly figured something out.

_Pluck, pluck, pluck_

"What is it?" Watson asked, tidying up the floor.

"She knows him." _Pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck, plllluuuuuuccccckkkkk_

"She didn't _act_ like she knew him." Watson turned and frowned at him. "What makes you think otherwise?"

Holmes set the violin down. He leaned forward, his chin resting on his folded hands. "When Sophie was still unsure of you, she screamed, Watson."

"Like a banshee," the doctor nodded, remembering. "But if I remember correctly, she did scream this afternoon, not to mention pissing herself." He sat down in his own chair, staring up at the ceiling, mentally and emotionally drained.

"RIght!" Holmes stood up. He began pacing around, his eyes darting all over the place, as if clues were buzzing around him like fireflies. "If that had been the case with you, we would have been cleaning up more urine than we did housebreaking Gladstone."

He picked up his violin and scratched his head with the wand. "Sophie knows something about him that we don't. I would wager that she _expected_ him to lash out like that."

"Who could he be?" Watson asked flatly, giving up on trying to argue with him. Truth be told, he wanted to believe this was a bad man. One more reason not to give him Sophie.

"He told us he was a businessman," Holmes rattled, still pacing. "But he never mentioned what business-which is strange, because most wealthy businessman are busting at the seams in such a situation, ready to brag."

"Maybe he was just more interested in his daughter than his work," the doctor suggested, somewhat sarcastically.

"He offered her chocolate." Holmes rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He said he'd just picked it up, but from where? Red and cold are odd colors for spring, and I noticed a faint odor coming from it, a sweet smell."

Watson scoffed, shaking his head slightly. He stared down at the dog, which he petted with his foot. "It couldn't have possibly been the actual chocolate underneat the foil, could it?"

"No." The sarcasm went right over the detective's head, but he was lightyears away, staring intently at nothing. "Chocolate has it's own distinct odor...this was something else..." He turned to Watson. "Chloroform, I believe."

Watson stopped messing with the dog. He looked up slowly. "Chloroform?"

"In his letter," Holmes continued. "He asked that we have Sophie packed and ready to go, but he never once asked where her bags were, what she needed-"

"What are you getting at?" The docotor interuppted him.

"Irene didn't send us the girl because she was in trouble," the detective told him. "She sent her to us because _Sophie_'s in trouble."

----------------

They woke up alone. Not really _alone_, but two in the bed. They didn't seem to notice at first, but once the sleep wore off their brains, they both sat up, almost simultaneously, looking around for Sophie. Not even bothering to dress, they traveled the short distance next door and found Sophie still asleep in her own bed.

"This is new," Holmes said, raising his eyebrows.

Sophie began to cough, a horrible rattling in her chest. Watson moved to her bedside quickly and placed a hand to her forehead. He then placed it to her heart.

"She has a fever," he said, kneeling down. "Sophie? Sophie, wake up, darling."

The little girl opened her eyes. They were glossy and clouded. She coughed again, and snot dripped from her nose. The doctor simply wiped it off with his hand and then onto his sleeping trousers. They could be washed later.

"Lucy," the toddler croaked, holding up the doll, smiling.

"Morning, Lucy." Watson kissed the doll.

"Lisa." She held up the other one.

"Lisa." Watson kissed that one too.

----------

Mrs. Hudson drew the little girl a warm bath and bathed her while Watson went out for some medicine. Holmes locked himself away in their room, disheveled and sleep-deprived, eager to solve a mysterious riddle. This time was different, however. It felt different. It felt _personal_. He smoked his pipe, remembering the clues he had thus far:

-Sophie's unusual reaction to the man

-The chocolate that was most likely laced with chloroform

-The lack of interest in Sophie

-The lack of interest in mentioning his profession

"Mr. Holmes?"

Mrs. Hudson opened the door, Sophie standing beside her. She was dressed in a fluffly robe, her curls wispy and relaxed around her glowing red face. Holmes looked at her, and then at the landlady.

"She wanted to see you," Mrs. Hudson said, her eyebrows raising.

"Come in, Dear." The detective gestured. "Come in."

Sophie closed the door behind her, and looked around the room. "Where is Papa?"

"He'll be long," Holmes said, sitting down in his chair. "He went out for some medicine."

The toddler climbed onto his lap and put his hand in both of hers. She played with his calloused fingers, tracing her own over his dirty nails. It was something the detective had noticed since her arrival. Sophie was incredibly observant, very attentive to detail. She was also touching and feeling thngs, as if to remember them later.

"Is that man coming back?" She whispered, craning her head to look up at him.

"Do you want him to?" Holmes looked down at her.

"Mm-mm." The little girl shook her head.

----------

"How is she?" _Pluck, pluck, pluck._

"Her fever should go down," Watson said. "It's just a cold, nothing to worry about."

They remained silent for a moment, only the sound of Gladstone shuffling towards the door could be heard. Watson, who was already standing, let him out.

"It's been ages since we've been alone like this," the detective said, pausing in his plucking, his eyes raising towards the doctor.

Watson didn't catch his gaze. "Yes, it has," he muttered.

"Think Sophie will wake up?" _Pluck_

"The medicine is strong," the doctor replied nonchalantly. "Should keep her asleep all night."

" _All_ night?" _Pluck, pluck, pluck._

Watson turned to Holmes, his brows furrowing, but when he caught the detective looking away, smiling, he smiled too. He rolled his eyes before making his way over and leaning down to kiss the detective.

"All night," he said quietly.

-------

They tried to be quiet, knowing Sophie was resting right next door, but they had never had to be quiet about it before for, and weren't really sure they knew how to do so.

Falling back on the pillow, panting, Watson reached over and took his pocketwatch from the table. "I should go check on her," he breathed, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Allow me." Holmes sat up, running a hand through his damp hair.

"You sure?" the doctor turned his head.

Holmes was already pulling on a pair of sleeping trousers. He leaned over the bed and pecked Watson on the lips. "I'm sure."

He kissed him again and they kissed for several seconds, Watson raising his hands to capture the detective's head. Still attached at the lips, Holmes clumsily removed his hands.

"I'll be right back," he said, exiting the room.

-----------

Sophie was curled up in a ball at the head of the bed, the covers mostly on the floor. He checked her forehead, and then moved the blanket back over her sleeping form. Before he did so, something caught his eye. He raised her night gown just a bit, and on the side of her belly, just under her navel line, she had a small, almost heart-shaped freckle. He absent-mindedly traced over his own, still staring at hers.

---------

"Was she alright?" Watson asked when Holmes re-entered the room.

"Fine." Holmes smiled briefly. "She's just fine."

They turned out the lights, but even in the dark, Holmes stared into space, wide-eyed.

To Be Continued...


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Good morning."

Holmes awoke groggily, his eyes trying to focus on the blurry image looming above him. A sweet, dizzy aroma floated between them. He sat up, sliding up the head of the bed. It was Irene. She moved across the room, seating herself in his chair, and poured herself a cup of tea.

"How is she?" She asked.

Holmes removed himself from the bed. "You tell me." He smiled, but his tone was anything but amused.

Irene paused, the tea cup half way to her mouth. She put it down o the table, looking around the room-her eyes anywhere but on the detective. "How long did it take you?"

"Where is Watson?" He ignored her question.

"Mrs. Hudson said he was called out to an emergency this morning," Irene sighed, fingering the delicate china between her fingers. She hesitated before looking back at him. "Where is she?"

Holmes softened a bit. Despite his posessive nature, he knew that it was not right to deprive a child from her mother. He half-dressed, throwing on a simple shirt and slacks, and motioned for her to follow him next door. Sophie was still sleeping, her little body sprawled across the bed. Lucy was smothered under one arm, Lisa under the other.

Irene smiled softly, and covered her mouth.

The detective watched her without a shred of hostility as she knelt down beside the bedside and stroked the toddler's curls.

"You can wake her," he offered.

Irene shook her head. "No."

She stood up, her eyes never leaving the child. Holmes observed her her fingers curl into fists, her knuckles turning white.

"Who is he?" He asked, not bothering to explain what he was talking about. One never had to pussy-foot around with Irene Adler.

"I owe him," she said sadly. "He helped me back to my feet during hard times, but I could never pay him back."

She stared at the detective, and for the first time, her face was riddled with shame.

"He became obsessed with me, and though I had a home with him, he was very angry." She inhaled deeply. "Very angry, very mean." Tears began to leak from her eyes. "I couldn't let him near her again."

It was heart-breaking to watch the proud woman he knew fall apart like that. Holmes pulled her into an embrace, rubbing her back as she wept into his shirt. The noise woke Sophie, and Irene paled, removing herself from Holmes.

"Mama?" The toddler shot up, beginning to wail. "Mama!"

Irene scooped her up, holding her just as tightly as Sophie was clinging.

"Hello, my darling," she laughed and cried at the same time, kissing her over and over. "I missed your little baby body."

The door opened and Watson busted in, flustered and sweating. Obviously he'd heard Sophie. Of course, he always had an ear out for her. He looked at Holmes, his eyes full of question. Irene sighed, inhaling the scent of Sophie's hair.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much."

------------

"So let me get this straight," Watson said, cleaning his pistol. "Irene was living with Botts-who was obsessed with her, but also abused her."

"Right." Holmes nodded, staring into space.

"And he made up a story about her sending him a letter to fetch Sophie so he could kidnap her and _make_ Irene come back to him."

"Absolutely," the detective agreed.

Watson paused in wiping his weapon, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "And she sent Sophie to live with us to protect her from Botts."

"Correct," Holmes said, biting a hangnail.

Watson carefully put the gun away. "So she is yours."

Holmes narrowed his eyes and nodded. He expected Watson to roll his eyes, or go on a crusade about how he'd known all along and how dare Holmes not tell him, but the doctor just chuckled.

"We're in a mess, aren't we?" He looked up at the ceiling again. He looked at Holmes again. "There's just one thing that doesn't add up."

"Do tell," Holmes shrugged, still not one-hundred percent mentally there.

"How did Botts know about us?"

--------------

"I told him," Irene answered later in the afternoon, when she was alone with Holmes.

"Why would you tell your abusive lover that he's not the father of your child?" the detective's brows furrowed.

Irene sighed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "Thomas knows he's not Sophie's father. He met me while I was pregnant."

Holmes cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. Something seemed to be floating around in the air, thick with poison. The detective was naturally a guarded, untrusting man to begin with, but the truth cut him like a sharp knife, and it hurt. Badly. Possibly destroying any slivers of trust he had left.

"Why..." he looked at the far wall. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm not sure." She was smiling, but there was sadness behind it. "I guess I figured you'd be too busy to really care."

She'd just cut deeper into the wound, practically scraping out his soul.

"Why would I not care about my own child?" He snorted a little, though nothing about the situation was humorous. "Why didn't you tell me in the letter, at least?"

"I wanted to make sure you'd want her," Irene confessed."With no strings attached."

"Well, being the brilliant puppeteer that you are," he told her. "I'm afraid your strings are all crossed now and you've endangered yourself and your daughter even further."

Irene was about to retort with something, her bite back, just as bad as her bark, when Sophie entered the room. She raced over to her mother, who picked her up.

"Mama," she giggled, playing with her mother's hair.

"Hello, love," Irene whispered, squinching up her nose.

Sophie looked over to Holmes, smiling a different kind of smile at him. She held up Lucy. Wordlessly, Holmes took the doll from her. Irene sighed, looking away. When she turned back, she shifted her weight.

"You don't have to worry about it anymore," she said. "I'm leaving this evening. My mother agreed to look after Sophie, and I'm returning to Thomas."

------------

"You can't _let_ her take Sophie!" Watson said, indignantly.

"She's her daughter," Holmes muttered, staring off into space, plucking his violin.

"She's _your_ daughter too!" Watson buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. The detective wondered if he was making faces at him. When he looked back up, he said, "What is it about Irene that turns you into such a woman?"

Holmes only stared at him, and then looked away. He wasn't ready to admit he was still sore over the afternoon conversation. It was just a bit difficult to accept that a good friend and former lover had assumed he was too selfish to care for his own child. For the past month, he'd done nothing but care for her, and he hadn't even known she was blood.

"There's something you're not telling me." Watson shook a finger at him, getting up and pacing the room. "I can _feel _it."

_Pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck. _"Watson, I must say, I'm exhausted." Holmes stood up. "I shall bid farewell to Irene and Sophie, and then I'm going to bed."

Before Watson could open his mouth, Holmes quickly left the room.

To Be Continued...


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Irene waited in the parlor, Sophie playing on the floor beside her. The little girl was dressed and ready to go, her _lady hat_ continueously falling over her eyes. She lifted it up and her eyes lit up as she watched her daddy descend the stairs. She met him on the second-to-bottom step, raising her arms. He picked her up.

Irene lingered by the front door hesitantly. She tucked some fly-away curls behind her ear and made eye-contact with an imaginary fourth person.

"Lucy." Sophie shoved the smelly doll in Holmes face.

Holmes kissed Lucy. He then moved it aside so he could kiss Sophie. She looked at him, her smile frozen, but something else behind it. Her eye shifted, studying him intently, and she leaned forward and kissed him back, her little lips gracing his. She then buried her face in his neck and hummed softly. Her fingers brushed the back of his head. He heard her whispering, and he closed his eyes.

"Daddy," she whispered over and over.

"Thank you for taking care of her," Irene said softly, finally looking their way. "It means a lot to me."

"But not to me." He set Sophie down, putting his guard up once more.

"I never meant it that way," Irene said. "That's not fair, Sherlock."

The detective let out a little huff of breath, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Tell me what is fair, Irene. Really, I'd like to know." He looked away, and then back at her. "The fact that you're _taking_ my child away from me? The fact that I'll probably never see her again?"

"I wouldn't do that to you," The woman said.

"_Again_." His smile was icy. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Get over yourself, Irene." and turned heel.

"Sherlock-" Irene caught him by the arm. "I really am sorry."

She didn't wait for a response, and released him, turning to Sophie. "Let's go, Dear." She picked her up, kissing her cheek. "You have Lucy? Lisa?"

Sophie nodded, and peered over her mother's shoulders to look at her father. Meanwhile, Watson entered the room, lurking in the background. Everyone was quiet. Irene sighed heavily, and opened the front door. Over her shoulder, she said, "Thank you again."

----------

"Well, I hope your satisfied," Watson said, after the front door closed. He sighed, picking up his paper on the side table. He headed for the stairs, but paused, turning his head. Squinting skeptically, and moving slowly, he moved around Holmes to face him.

Tears were streaming down the detective's face. Watson closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. He looked at the front door, tapping his rolled paper against his thigh.

"Holmes," he said quietly. "It's not too late."

Holmes, still staring at the door, wiped a hand across his face. He didn't respond.

"Do you want to know why you're the world's most brilliant man?" The doctor asked. "It's not because you put your mind to things, but because you _don't_ when it comes to personal matters. You ignore all logic and do what your heart tells you. You always have." His voice lowered. "At my wedding, when the preacher said 'speak now or forever hold your piece', in front of a hundred people, you raced up to the alter and told me that you loved me."

Holmes wiped his eyes again, looking down at the floor. He looked back at the door, and opened it, stepping out. Without the closing the door behind him, he tore down the street, rounding the corner. Watson followed him, stopping at the street corner, resting his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. When he looked up, he was smiling.

--------------

The detective ran, mentally following the carriage Irene had climbed into-with his precious Sophie. It only took a few blocks to catch up to it, and stopping abruptly, panting, he shook his head. Swallowing, he skidded in front of the horses, frightening them into a frenzy, causing one of them to raise and thrash angrily at him with its front hooves.

The coach climbed out, trying to settle the horses and curse Holmes at the same time. The detective stood up, ignoring him, and made his way to the door of the carriage. Irene had already opened it. She looked shocked.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

Holmes looked past her, and Sophie looked back at him. Her face was red, and tear-stained. She wept, climbing into his arms, and he held her tightly, burying his face in her hair. The coach continued to scream at him, and Irene continued to question him, demanding answers. People on the street stared shamelessly at him. Watson finally caught up, and watched him. Holmes ignored them all, and smiled, tears rolling down his face again. He kissed Sophie.

Irene softened, her expression slowly changing from shock and worry to relief and understanding. Watson pulled the driver aside, trying to settle him down. As he paraded him a good few feet away, he kept Holmes in the corner of his eye.

"Daddy," Sophie sniffled, her bottom lip trembling. "Daddy..." she began to cry again.

Holmes knelt down, picking up Lucy who'd fallen on the ground. He pressed the doll's face to hers. "Lucy," he said.

Sophie smiled, and Holmes wiped her nose with his hand. She fingered the doll, brushing her hands over every part of its worn dimension.

The driver had settled down by this point, and Watson paid him for his troubles. He would order Irene a new cab. He walked over to the group, and Sophie turned to him, smiling again. "Papa."

Irene squinted slightly, looking between Holmes and Watson. She stared up at the dark sky. When she looked back at them, she was crying too. Watson took Sophie from Holmes, and she fingered his moustache, which had begun to grow back over the past few days. Again, nobody spoke.

To Be Continued....


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Watson came downstairs, glancing back up them as he did so. When he reached the parlor, he sat down on the sofa beside Holmes, who stared at Irene, across the coffee table. He looked between them and finally said, "You're horrible parents."

That broke their gaze. Holmes looked at Watson and Irene looked away. Watson said, "She finally went to sleep, but she cried. _A lot_."

"Well, if he'd just let me taken her-" Irene began.

"You abandoned her!" Holmes snapped.

Irene looked as if he'd slapped her across the face. She stood up, and so did he. Without any warning, she slapped _him_. Hard. It actually echoed through the room. When he turned his head back, she slapped him again, to keep the first one company. Tears stung her eyes.

"I didn't tell you because I was ashamed," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "I was broke at the time, homeless, and I hate asking for help." She swallowed hard. "You know that."

Watson moved between them. "This isn't about either of you," he said. "You're both stubborn, both full of yourselves." He sighed, letting his head roll back. "It's time to grow up now."

-----------

They made ammends, for the night anyway, and Irene asked to sleep with Sophie. Holmes and Watson easily agreed to the idea, but only an hour after her departure to the room next door, a tiny knock sounded at their door. It opened a crack, and Sophie peeked in, looking around. The two men sat up groggily. The little girl padded over to the bed, carefully placing her dolls there first, and then climbed in between them.

"You don't want to sleep with Mama?" Holmes asked, pulling the covers around her.

The toddler didn't respond. A half smile crossed her face, and she brushed her index finger over his lips. Watson watched, smiling. Sophie sighed, closing her eyes. After she fell asleep, Holmes carried her back into the room next door, quietly so he would not disturb Irene.

He didn't have to. The bed was empty. The only thing that remained of Irene was a letter, resting on one of the two pillows. Without laying Sophie down, he picked it up and scanned it quickly.

_I'm so sorry for the way I've acted. Not just tonight, but for a long time. I wasn't ashamed. I was scared. My fears were confirmed tonight, but they also put me at ease. Please take care of her. Please love her. Please cherish her. Please protect her. Our beautiful Sophia Holmes._

He closed his eyes, tossing the letter to the floor, his face raising towards the ceiling. Sophie stirred against him, and he rubbed her back.

_----------_

"I'm sorry, Holmes," Watson said the next morning over breakfast.

The detective only shrugged, absorbed in the morning paper. Sophie sat in her own chair, stacked with heavy books, bits of oatmeal stuck to the corners of her mouth. She looked between them, chewing silently. Mrs. Hudson entered the dining room, quickly taking a napkin to the toddler's face. She whined.

"Let her," Watson said sternly.

Sophie pouted, but stopped squirming and allowed her face to be cleaned. When Mrs. Hudson finished, the little girl picked up her glass of orange juice, putting it to her lips. It began to trickle down the front of her shirt. Watson tried to ignore at first, but her clothes and the carpet was becoming wet.

"Let me help you." He leaned over to hold the bottom of her cup.

Sophie's brows furrowed. "Noooo!" She tried to pull it away from him.

Watson huffed, trying to be patient. "Sophie-"

"Let go!" She tugged harder. When he did not do so, she began kicking her feet. "LET GO!"

The glass flew into the air, and shattered on the floor. Sophie stared down at it, and tears filled her eyes. She started to cry, and thrash around. She removed herself from the chair, stomping her little feet and swinging her tiny fists. Watson tried to grab her, but she collapsed to the floor, lashing out even more.

"Let her," Mrs. Hudson said.

" 'Let her'?" Watson's brows furrowed. "Look at her!"

"That's what they do," the landlady replied with a shrug, walking away.

Holmes and Watson watched her roll around angrily, being as loud as she could, and when she finally stopped for breath, Holmes moved to her side and knelt down. "Feel better?"

Sophie scowled and hit him in the chest. His eyes followed her hands as she did it again and again. He looked at Watson, who only shook his head.

"You're angry that Mama's gone?" The detective guessed.

Sophie stopped hitting him, and her bottom lip trembled. She began to cry again, but softly this time, and hiccups soon followed. Holmes pulled her against him and stood up. He looked at Watson again, and the doctor looked away, releasing air through his nose. Sophie pulled her face from Holme's chest, and he wiped her nose with his finger. Her eyes were glossy with tears, her face red, and she'd never looked more beautiful.

"Mama," she whimpered, hiccuping.

Holmes nodded. "She'll be back."

"Holmes," Watson warned, giving him a look.

The detective ignored him, brushing curls away that were matted to her face with tears. "I promise."

Sophie hiccuped again and leaned against him once more. He carried her back to the table, tipping the chair so the books fell onto the floor, and sat down. With Sophie in his lap, he scooted the bowl of oatmeal closer, taking the spoon.

"Now, Madame," he said, handing it to her. "I believe you still have some breakfast to eat."

Sophie took the spoon, looking at him, and stuck it in her mouth. She began to eat and Watson smiled to himself, beginning to collect the broken glass on the floor.

-----------

"I was not expecting that," Watson chuckled as they prepared for bed.

"Expect the unexpected," Holmes said casually, fully clothed, sitting in his chair with his violin.

The doctor gave him a look. "Said the one who didn't want a thing to do with her a month ago."

Holmes plucked away at his violin, staring off into space. Pluck, pluck, pluck.

Watson knew he was only pretending not to listen, so he continued. "The great Sherlock Holmes-the world's most brilliant mind-baffled by his own mystery."

Holmes stopped playing, frowning at Watson.

"The case of the little girl who stole his heart," Watson said, trying not to laugh. "Where could she have taken it?"

Holmes lazily tossed his fiddlestick at him, missing by a mile. The doctor only laughed, and shook his head. He moved beside Holmes and leaned down to kiss him. "It's only natural that you love her."

"This much?" The detective snorted quietly, returning the kiss. "I can't even relate to children."

"That's a surprise." Watson climbed into bed. "You act just like one."

They heard a noise outside the door. Watson climbed out of bed, and Holmes stood up. He opened the door and halfway stepped out the door, looking around the dark hallway. Sophie was almost at the stairs, tugging the handle of a large suitcase.

"Going somewhere?" Holmes asked, leaning his head against the doorframe.

The little girl nodded, moving the luggage another inch. Watson appeared beside Holmes, sighing-fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Where to?" The doctor asked.

"Going to find Mama," Sophie said quietly. "I don't want her to go to Thomas."

"Why?" Watson continued.

Sophie paused. She placed a hand gingerly to her cheek and Holmes slowly raised his head from the frame. The hairs on his arms stood up. Watson felt the anger radiating from him and briefly turned his head to glance at him. He then turned back to Sophie.

"Pack everything you need?" He asked.

Sophie shrugged. She knelt down to open the case, revealing various items, including some of the doctor's old books he'd left in the room. Lucy and Lisa were also packed, naturally, as well a few mismatched articles of clothes and blank sheets of paper. She kept her gaze on the men, waiting for their approval on the choice of belongings.

"Would you like some money for a carriage?" Watson moved towards her, kneeling down. "Perhaps a map."

Sophie hesitated, thinking it over. She stared down at her feet, and wriggled her bare toes. "Will you come with me?"

Watson shook his head slightly. "I have work in the morning, love," he whispered.

"Oh." She looked back down.

Watson patted her shoulder. "Tell you what, though. Why don't you rest tonight, and we'll go try and find Mama in just a few days? That way we can all go."

Sophie nodded, after pondering the idea for several moments. Watson smiled at her, and stood up. She stood on her tip-toes and raised her arms. He obeyed and kissed the top of her head. Yet again, it was three to a bed.

-----------

"Do you think he hit her too?" Watson asked, eyeing the sleeping toddler between them.

Holmes didn't have to answer. His scowling into space was good enough, not to mention his brooding silence. The doctor sighed, glancing at Sophie. He stroked some of her hair. "Botts will be back, you know."

"Good." Holmes reached over to turn off the lamp.

To Be Continued...


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Author's note: Sorry about the long wait. Had some writer's block. Anyway, chapter ten should be here shortly. Enjoy!

It was the anticipation that got to them. For days, Botts didn't return, but Holmes and Watson didn't want to let their guard down. Holmes was utterly obsessed with the matter, constantly checking Sophie for scars or other physical traumas. Sometimes he would just interupt whatever she was doing, pick her up, carry her over to his chair, sit her down in his lap, and inspect her thoroughly. Watson always watched, but hardly complained. Holmes was extremely protective of what he felt belonged to him-including people.

He was losing sleep over it, frequently tossing and turning at night, and the doctor wished Botts would just hurry and show his face so they could do away with him and move on with their lives.

------

_Pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck._

Watson raised his eyes over his paper to see Holmes set his violin down, and remove himself from his chair. He briskly moved acrossed the room to where Sophie played with an old lockbox on the floor. He scooped her up in one arm, moving back to the chair. Watson sighed.

"You're not going to find anything," he said. "And you should be thankful."

Sophie squirmed in his grasp, staring longingly at her box. She began to whine. Holmes ignored her and held out her arm, studying it closely.

"Faint scar near the elbow," he muttered.

Sophie moaned louder, making herself go limp, sliding down his legs. He caught her under the arms. "A scrape on her left forearm," he said. "Fresh."

"Yes, she did that this morning," Watson reminded him. There was a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "She found Mrs. Hudson's sewing scissors."

"Possible faded bruise on her left leg-"

Watson folded his paper, setting it down. "She's _fine_, Holmes." He gestured to the pouting toddler. "Look at her. All she wants to do is be left alone and you knit-pick at every imaginary abrasion for hours on end."

Holmes released Sophie and nodded, staring into space. "You're right," he said. He jumped a little, pulling Sophie back just as she'd started to escape. "But look at this-"

"Holmes!" Watson took the detective's arm in one hand and the little girl's in the other. He broke them apart. "Let her be!" He smiled at Sophie. "Go ahead, Dear."

The little girl eagerly went back to her box and pile of keys. Holmes sat back down, and he and Watson sighed simultaneously. Watson stroked some of his hair. "It'll be alright. I promise."

------

Sophie discovered it first, and she cried and cried. Lucy had been missing all afternoon, and after a long and tedious search, the doll turned up in Watson's old sleeping room where Sophie was supposed to sleep. Stuffing everywhere, canine teeth marks visible. Gladstone, in his semi-senile old age, was notorious for tearing things up that were left on the floor. More than once had case notes and medical documents been found reduced to confetti.

They heard Sophie scream and flew up the stairs, and when they arrived at the crime scene, Watson closed his eyes and shook his head. Holmes kicked the door frame, mouthing a swear word. Sophie picked up the hollowed-out doll, her bottom lip quivering. She looked up at the doctor and detective and broke down a second time.

"Oh." Watson knelt down and pulled her into his arms, kissing her over and over. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"Where is that beast?" Holmes moved around the room, and got to his hands and knees to look under the bed.

"Holmes," Watson looked over Sophie. "The dog is old and senile. It's useless to punish him."

"Oh, I'm not going to punish him," Holmes replied, getting back to his feet. "I'm going to kill him."

Sophie fingered what remained of Lucy's head and threw the doll onto the floor, buring her face in Watson's shoulder, sobbing hysterically. He rubbed her back, standing up, and carried her out of the room. Holmes followed them. They found Lisa, and offered her to Sophie, but she pushed it away.

"Did Mama make Lucy for you?" Watson asked, sitting down in his chair.

"I don't know," Sophie squeaked, still crying.

-------

She was a little bet better towards the evening, and after dinner and a bath, she was perfectly fine. Holmes and Watson sat in their chairs, busying themselves with tedious things, but they secretly watched Sophie play on the floor with her lockbox. When she grew bored with it, she made her way over to Holmes and climbed onto his lap, picking at a loose thread in his trousers. He began shake his left knee, and she bounced, her voice vibrating. Holmes laughed and looked at Watson, who was smiling, but still staring at his book.

"Do you hear this?" Holmes asked, bouncing her again, her voice shaking.

"uh-UH-uh-UH-uh..." Sophie grinned at the odd texture in her voice, and the detective laughed again.

"It's the funniest thing ever," he mused.

Watson narrowed his eyes over and shook his head. Sophie manuevered herself so she was sitting the other way, facing Holmes. She fingered the stubble on his face. "You do it."

"Do what?" He asked.

Sophie bounced a little and tried to fake the noise. "Uh....uh...uh...."

"I can't make that noise," Holmes told her.

"Yes...he can..." Watson muttered, stil smiling. Holmes looked at him, but Watson was still staring at the pages of his book.

------

"Finished." Watson said, sighing, tossing the cloth and stuffing at the foot of the bed.

It was a shoddy job, and with surgical thread,but Lucy was once again stuffed and put together. Holmes sat up and reached his arm out to collect the project. He made a face, but raised his eyebrows and just shrugged it off. He reached over to Sophie, who was sprawled out between them, and placed the doll in her free arm. The other clutched Lisa.

Watson shook his head slightly, staring up at the ceiling. "This is not how I imagined my life," he said quietly. He chuckled a little. "I mean, I've just spent the last two hours sewing up a doll."

"Not just any doll," Holmes pointed out, casting a finger. "_Lucy_."

"Just..." Watson propped himself up on his elbows. "How do we manage it, Holmes?"

"The doll?" The detective's brows furrowed.

"Everything," Watson explained. "Our work, our relationship, our..." he blushed, which was something he rarely did. "_daughter."_

Watson had told Holmes he loved him, he'd said some of the most scandelous, dirty things to him in bed, but hearing the words 'our daughter'come from his mouth actually sent shivers down the detective's spine.

"Is this the family you dreamt about?" Holmes laid back down, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, yes," Watson scoffed. "I'm practically married to another man, a borderline insane one at that, I have a dog that eats everything in sight, and a daughter who has me using my military medical skills to recover her doll." He laid back down too, turning his head so he could face Holmes. "This is the family I wanted."

He leaned over to brush his lips over the detective's and Sophie stirred beneath them, opening her eyes slightly. They were still glossy with sleep. Watson stroked some of her hair. "Go back to sleep, love," he whispered.

Sophie tilted her head to look at him. "I'm thirsty."

"You're thirsty?" Watson repeated, looking at Holmes.

"Mm-hmm." Sophie turned to look at him too, reaching over to stroke his arm with her fingers.

He rolled his eyes, but leaned down to kiss her. "Allow me to bring you some water, my dear," he said, climbing out of bed.

When he left, Sophie snuggled against Watson, and pulled the covers higher around them. She smiled up at him, and he poked one of her dimples. "What's that you got?" he asked, nodding at the doll in her arm.

Sophie looked down and fingered the new stitches. She squeezed the doll against her. "Lucy," she smiled.

-----

Holmes had just started back up the stairs with a glass of water when a loud rap sounded at the front door. Carefully setting the water on the small end table near the staircase, he went to the door opened it. It was Thomas Botts. He held up a sheet of paper. "Court order."

To Be Continued...


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It had happened all in a blur, like being caught in a twister. Everything spinning out of control, wild, and when it was all over, they were just left standing in the aftermath, the damage done.

* * *

_"Holmes-" Watson quickly moved down the stairs, where Lestrade, two fellow officers, and Thomas Botts stood in the doorway. "What's going..." his gaze fell on Botts._

_"Where is she?" Botts asked, his eyes moving up the stairs._

_"You're not taking her," Holmes said simply._

_Watson moved closer to them, and glanced curiously at Lestrade, who looked as guilty as anything. He muttered something to the other officers, and they briskly moved forward, heading for the stairs. Holmes was hot on their heels, and grabbed one of them by the arm, swinging them back. _

_"She's not his daughter," Watson told Lestrade. "Irene Adler confessed." _

_"I believe my court order begs to differ," Botts said, holding up the sheet once more. _

_Holmes ripped it out of his hand and tore it in half, throwing it to the ground. Lestrade closed his eyes and massaged his eyes with his fingertips. Slowly, he said, "Dr. Watson, there's nothing I can do right now. We can take the matter to court at a later date, but as of right now, Mr. Botts has legal authority over the child."_

_Sophie appeared at the top of the staircase, and she looked at Botts. He smiled up at her, moving towards the stairs. "Darling," he cooed, placing a foot on the first step. _

_Holmes moved to grab him, to pull him away, but the officers took hold of him. He fought against them, and Lestrade silently handed them a pair of handcuffs. Watson glared at Lestrade. Sophie watched, her eyes growing more fearful as the detective was forced onto his knees, the officers warning him to stop loudly._

_"Daddy!" She made her way down the stairs, dropping Lucy halfway. _

_Watson gently took hold of her around the waist, kneeling down. She placed her little hands on his guarding arm, her bottom lip trembling. Tears streamed down her face. "Daddy?"_

_Holmes continued to struggle. "You're not taking her!"_

_One of the officers moved towards Watson, and the doctor was surprised that he wasn't willing to let go of her. The officer warned him that he too would be arrested if he tried to resist. Sophie clung to him, shaking and crying. _

_"Papa!" She shrieked, her fingers digging into his shirt. "Papa! Papa!"_

_The officer carried her with difficulty as she strugged against him, and handed her over to Botts, who pulled her head close enough to his so he could kiss her cheek._ _Watson lost control and tore at him, short of striking him before being restrained by one of the officers, shackles engulfing his wrists as well._

_"You're going to come home with me," Botts said with fake cheer. "I'm your daddy."_

_Sophie turned away from him, staring at Holmes and Watson. She cried even more, burying her face in her hands. Holmes squirmed some more, and one of the officers took a baton to him. _

_"You can't do this Lestrade," he told the inspector. His telling turned into begging. "You can't! He'll hurt her! You can't give her to him!"_

_Botts moved towards the door and Sophie began to kick and flail more ferociously than they'd ever seen her. He had to set her down for a moment, or else he would have easily dropped her anyway. He knelt down and said sternly, "Sophia, Dearest, you need to settle down."_

_Sophie tore off running, and Holmes and Watson followed her with their eyes. She ran up the stairs, and they heard one of the doors slam shut. Botts and one of the officers slowly went after her. While they were gone, Lestrade said, "I'll try and arrange a court hearing as soon as I can."_

_They returned a few minutes later, the officer holding Sophie this time. They set her back down near the front door, and Botts held onto her arms. She stomped her little feet and screamed, and Botts popped her on the cheek. Not a slap, but enough to make sound. "That's ENOUGH," he said._

_Holmes elbowed the officer restraining him and tore at Botts, kicking him square in the side, knocking him over and sending him rolling across the floor at least a foot. The officer retrieved him, and both of them had to hold him back as he fought to get to Botts. Watson sighed, fighting the urge to move himself. _

* * *

"There's nothing we could have done," Watson said, sitting against the far wall of the cell, his legs drawn-up.

Holmes paced back and forth in front of the bars. He leaned his head against them, closing his eyes. The doctor stared at him silently. He knew there was nothing that could be said.

Some hours later, which seemed like an eternity, a guard appeared. Watson raised his eyes to him. Holmes stopped pacing and turned his head.

"Your bail," the guard muttered.

"Our bail?" Watson repeated.

"Mrs. Hudson," Holmes guessed, his voice flat.

Someone emerged from the shadows and both men stared. Mary Morstan smiled softly at them. Watson slid up the length of the wall into a standing position. Holmes took a step back from the bars. The guard silently unlocked the door and stepped aside to let them out.

"Hello, John," Mary said quietly.

* * *

They followed her down the corridor to the exit. Neither man really knew what to say. Mary waited until they were outside to explain herself. She technically didn't have to. Standing beside a waiting carriage was a man holding a little boy, not quite a baby, but definitely not as old as Sophie.

"I am a parent myself," she said, taking the baby in her arms and kissing him gently. He smiled, showing a few scattered teeth.

"How did you find out about all of this?" Watson asked, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Thomas Botts is a colleague," the man said, stepping forward. He tickled his son. "He'd mentioned a few things about a mistress here and there, and her daughter. When your names came up, Mary became interested."

Mary smiled modestly. "Arthur-" she glanced at her new husband. "talks about what a short-tempered, violent man Botts is. He's never been able to keep a marriage, and even his family avoids him."

"I can't tell you how much we appreciate this," Watson told her quietly. He lowered his gaze towards the baby. "He's beautiful."

"I'm sure yours is too," she replied, kissing the baby's curly hair. "There's no time to waste-" she looked at Holmes, and then back at Watson. "Go after her."

To Be Continued...


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Sophie longed for Lucy. She didn't even realize she was missing until they were already in the carriage. Thomas placed her on the seat opposite of himself, and told her to behave. Without Daddy or Papa there, she did. Thomas was frightening. She only sniffled a little, trying to be as quiet as she could. She knew that if she cried loud, Thomas would put his hands on her just like he used to. Or worse, just like he used to do to Mama.

Mama. Sophie missed her so much. She remembered the morning Mama woke her up, crying a little, but not a lot like she did sometimes. She told Sophie they had to be apart for a little while. She told Sophie she was going to see her Daddy. She had talked about him before, but not a lot. She would just sometimes kiss her forehead and say, "You have your Daddy's eyes" or "You're stubborn just like your Daddy". He didn't really exsist as anything, he was just a word that became frequent in Sophie's life.

Sophie hadn't cried much until Mama actually took her to a house, and kissed her again and again. She gave Lucy to Sophie and had to pull the little girl's arms off of her hands. "Mama will be back," she said. "Mama will be back."

Sophie wanted her back _now_. The very thought made her cry a little more. She knew that if Mama were here with them right now, that Thomas would be mean. He would yell and hit her, and call her those terrible names Sophie didn't really understand. Daddy and Papa sometimes said ugly words to each other, but she'd never heard them raise their voices when doing so, and they never hit one another.

She couldn't help but make noise then, and she didn't care that Thomas was right there anymore. She cried loudly, and she grew frightened. Not because of Thomas, but because of the men in black who'd tied Daddy and Papa up, and hit them a few times.

When they returned to Thomas' home, the one Mama had left early in the morning with her, promising her that she would love her Daddy and he would be kind to her, Thomas took her from the carriage and told her to walk to the house. Inside, the chubby, pink-faced lady was waiting.

"Take care of her," Thomas said, shaking his head. "I can't deal with her another minute."

"Come here love," the chubby lady said, tugging at Sophie's hand. "You must be exhausted."

Sophie wept as the lady led her up the stairs into the washroom. She drew a bath and sighed and muttered to herself the entire time. Sophie did not want to take a bath. Not here. There wasn't enough water and it wasn't warm enough. The chubby lady washed her hair too hard, and didn't let her play in the water after. She quickly dried her, and dressed her in a night gown.

"Now let's get you off to bed," the lady said, giving Sophie's bottom a little pat. "We don't want the master to be upset."

The bed was cold and lonely. Sophie remained sitting up, and cried. She tried not to make a lot of noise, but she couldn't help it. She also had to go potty, but she was too scared to leave the room. She wet herself. The bed was now not only cold and lonely, but wet.

* * *

"So you see," Arthur finished, going through some papers at his work office. "I think Botts has been embezzling money anyway." He handed Watson the file folder. "I tried going to the yard a few times, but he manages to pay everybody off."

"This is good," Watson said, nodding. He glanced at the detective. "Holmes?"

"Do you have his home address?" Holmes asked, not looking at them, but off into space.

"Yes," Arthur said. "It's the large house on the corner off of Maplenut Lane." He found a notepad and scribbled an address on it. "You can't miss it, but here's the address anyway."

They thanked Arthur and left the office. When they were about a block away, Watson asked, "So we're going tonight then?"

* * *

Sophie stopped weeping. She heard voices. Thomas' angry one, but another. Her heart soared. Mama! She tore out of bed and opened the door, moving to the stairs.

"You're a whore, Irene!" Thomas screamed. "A no-good, rotten, bloody whore!"

"What else do you want from me?" Irene said back, in a voice that was loud too, but not mean. "I came back to you! Let Sophie go!"

Thomas laughed. "If I let her go, then you'll just leave again." Sophie watched as he grabbed her chin roughly. "And we don't want that again."

"Mama." Sophie moved down the stairs, tears already streaming down her face. "Mama!"

Before Thomas could say anything, she flew into her mother's arms and Irene scooped her up, kissing her.

"I thought the nanny told you to stay in bed," Thomas growled. He eyed her nightgown. "Oh, bloody hell! She's pissed herself! I'll bet it's all over my bed!"

"She's a baby!" Irene snapped, holding onto her tightly. "And we're not staying here, Thomas."

He laughed again. "And where will you go, Love? Who's going to take you in? Your mother's _dead_. You don't have any family. Every man from here to Scotland knows you're a dirty whore!"

"Daddy." Sophie said into her mother's dress. "We can go to Daddy."

Irene's hold on her loosened just a bit. She swallowed hard and said to Thomas. "We're not staying here."

Thomas yelled and threw things as Irene moved to the front door. He told her not to move, that if she took one step out the door he'd kill her, and Sophie wept. She believed him.

"It's alright, Love." Irene kissed her. "It's going to be alright."

"Mama..." Sophie was trembling. She'd always believed in her mother, but now...Thomas screaming and making so much noise with his fists...she wasn't sure...

There was a noised, and Irene stopped. Thomas shook, only with rage, and cocked a gun at her. "Don't you dare leave me," he said, his voice just as shaky as his hand.

"Thomas..." She shook her head, swallowing.

"Get against the wall," he ordered. Irene set Sophie down, and the little girl did not want to let her go. Irene wiped the little girl's tears with her hand. "Sophie, step away from me."

"GET AGAINST THE WALL!" Thomas waved the gun around. He looked at Sophie, but said nothing.

"Mama!" Sophie wailed, but kept her distance.

Thomas swallowed, breathing heavily, still holding the gun. Sophie jumped a little, feeling hands on her. She whipped her head around and began to cry harder. It was Papa. She flew into his arms, gripping onto him like there was no tomorrow. She heard a thud, and turned back to see Daddy. He had hit Thomas with the same stick the men and black had hit him with. Only he had two of them. Thomas fell to the floor, dropping the gun, and Daddy kicked it away from him. He hit him again, and then kicked him.

"Sophie," Papa said softly. "Let go of me just for a moment."

"No!" Sophie stomped her feet. "No!"

"Just for a moment," Papa insisted, his voice still soft. When Sophie didn't comply, Papa forcefully pried her away. Sophie began to throw a fit.

She watched, still screaming as Papa joined in the fight, and he and Daddy let Thomas have it. He needed it. She had seen him hit and throw Mama so many times, and the chubby lady, and a few others that had come and gone through the front door. Now, he knew what it was like, she thought.

"Take the Goddamn girl!" Thomas spat from his place on the floor. "Take her! Leave Irene here, but take your bastard child!"

Holmes kicked him again, making him grunt. "We're not leaving without both of our girls," he said simply.

"You're lucky we just roughed you up a bit," Watson added, yanking him up by his arm. "Wait until you go to prison."

" 'Prison'?" Thomas repeated, scoffing. "I practically run the law!" He glanced at Sophie, grinning, shaking his head.

* * *

The men in black arrived some time later, and they took Thomas away. The chubby lady followed them out the door, telling the men to make sure he stayed locked up.

"You didn't have to help us," Irene said, standing next to Holmes.

Sophie tugged at Watson's coat and he picked her up. He kissed her. She leaned her head against his shoulder, fingering his moustache absent-mindedly.

"Stop being so stubborn," Holmes replied casually. "Be a woman, for once."

Irene smiled, and leaned against his side, chuckling. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you." She removed herself and looked at Watson. "May I?"

"Of course." Watson put Sophie down and she ran into her mother's arms.

* * *

"You should live here, with us," Holmes said, sighing slightly.

Irene stroked the sleeping toddler's hair. She looked up at him. "I have to fix my life first," she said. "So I can give her the one that she deserves."

"It'll break her heart," Holmes said, looking down at Sophie.

Irene smiled a shaky smile. "I won't disappear forever." She rubbed her arms with her hands. "She needs stability in her life."

Holmes inhaled slowly, but finally nodded, releasing the air through his nose. He embraced Irene and they remained that way for several moments. When they pulled away, Irene leaned down to give Sophie a soft kiss, so soft it would not wake her. She brushed the back of her hand across her cheek.

They left the room and Holmes and Watson followed Irene to the front door. Watson wordlessly handed Irene an envelope. She glanced at it, and then back at him.

"Some money," the doctor explained.

"Oh, no-" Irene started to hand it back.

"Take it," he insisted. "We want you to return one day." He smiled, and Irene knew he meant it.

She nodded. "Thank you."

She left, and they returned upstairs, and collapsed into their chairs. The sun was just starting to rise. Holmes rubbed at his eyes sleepily. Watson glanced at him.

"What a night," the detective said, yawning.

They only removed their shoes, and climbed into bed. Thirty minutes hadn't even passed when they heard the bedroom door open, and felt Sophie climb onto the bed and fall in between them. She fell asleep without a word. Holmes and Watson looked at her, and then each other.

"I suppose it's time we consider painting your old room," Holmes said quietly.

"Pink?" Watson raised his eyebrows, blinking heavily.

"Pink..." Holmes said quietly, with false menace.

The doctor chuckled, placing his arms behind his head. His fingers found Holmes between the pillows and he brushed them against the detectives'.

"Sophia Holmes," he yawned.

"Sophia Irene Watson-Holmes," the detective replied, closing his eyes.

Speaking of Sophie Irene Watson-Holmes, her eyes opened, and she sat up. "Where's Lucy?"

"I am not getting out of bed to go retrieve Lucy," Holmes slurred sleepily.

Sophie whined. "Lucy..."

* * *

Climbing back into bed, Holmes groaned, rolling his eyes. Sophie was fast asleep. He placed the doll under her arm, and leaned down to kiss her. Watson chuckled, but he was already half asleep.

The End

**Author's note:** Oh my goodness. I'm actually finished! *collapses* Well, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm going to answer a few questions I've received in various private messages and reviews.

**Spelling and grammar:** I write a lot of my fic chapters either before I go to work, or on my lunchbreak. I do not beta my own work. I apologize for these mistakes. In this particular chapter, I did it on purpose once or twice to make it feel like it was more from Sophie's POV every now and again.

**The wedding fail scene:** I've been asked to do a one-shot on the wedding scene. The mentioned part where Holmes interupts Watson and Mary...well, I will probably write it. Be on the lookout for it.

**Sequel:** I was very surprised to receive questions about sequels. I probably will write one, but only because I love Sophie so much. I wish she were my baby. I mean, come on? Wouldn't you want Sherlock's baby?

Thanks again for reading, and thank you so much for all of the wonderful feedback!


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